


Comfort Zone

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, S3 "Strange Bedfellows"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser thinks Ray K is still obsessed with Stella. Fraser is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Zone

_"That must be very hard for you."_

 _"You have no idea."_

The blood rose to Fraser's cheeks immediately when Ray answered him, a sympathetic and surprising reaction of great intensity. Ray, frozen in the driver's seat, fell silent immediately and Fraser realized Ray had tears in his eyes.  
  
Fraser looked down, folding his hands and willing himself to keep still, to not fidget with the hem of his tunic or smooth it over his thighs. He focused on Diefenbaker, patient and panting in the back seat of the car Ray had checked out of the motor pool.

After what seemed like a long while (because Fraser's cheeks had definitely cooled, though his time-sense was distorted by his emotional state), Ray reached for the keys and started the car.

After another while, which Fraser spent looking out his window in an effort to give Ray all the time he needed to regain his composure and choose a topic for conversation, Fraser realized the route Ray was taking was unfamiliar. Soon they were approaching one of the many parks that followed the lakeshore, nowhere near Ray's apartment, the police station, or the consulate.

Frowning slightly, he glanced over. Ray seemed calmer now, but distant. Lost in his own thoughts. For some reason, he was taking them into a parking lot overlooking the lake. Fraser was reluctant to break the silence or comment on the hour or the location. Lake Michigan dominated the landscape here, the area empty of both people and cars, and suffused with a feeling of isolation and remoteness, for all they were still in the city. The water was dark, its restless waves striped by the lights along the frontage.

After he killed the engine, Ray leaned back for a moment, letting his hands drop from the wheel, and then he abruptly leaned over in front of Fraser, making him suppress a flinch at the sudden closeness. Ray yanked open the glove compartment and brought out a pack of cigarettes. He rolled down his window, part of his obscure personal calculus of courtesy, and lit one. Fraser noticed idly that Ray had apparently replaced his big silver Zippo after, perhaps intentionally, leaving his old one in the mental institution on the day they'd met.

They sat there, Ray smoking and Fraser watching him, until, into the heavy silence, Ray began to speak. He slowly told Fraser the story of how he'd met Stella, how they'd become teenage friends, then lovers, then spouses, then -- his pauses becoming more frequent and his syntax less coherent -- how they had grown apart, and finally divorced. The story took three cigarettes. Fraser was moved, and riveted, finding Ray's husky voice oddly hypnotic, and yet oddly flat. Ray was usually so animated. At some point Fraser closed his eyes. He didn't open them until he felt Ray gently poke him in the shoulder with two fingers.

"And why I'm telling you all this I don't know, honestly, except that.... I guess..."

"It feels good to tell it. To let it out, to someone," Fraser finished for him, quietly, after a pause to gather his thoughts.

"Yeah. That's it. And I can -- you know. Talk to you."

"Thank you for your confidence. It means a great deal to me." It was an effort not to clench his fists, or clutch his tunic's hem tightly. Somehow he prevented himself from reaching to touch Ray's shoulder.

"Yeah, well. That and a quarter will get you a cup of coffee. You want to go? We should maybe go now. Get back on that shooting guy, the one in the Cutlass."

"What did you mean, earlier?" Fraser had no conscious thought of framing the question, but out it came. Calm and tentative, the tone not at all matching the tenor of his turbulent thoughts, but it was definitely his voice asking.

Ray, arrested in the motion of starting the car again, looked at him. He was surprised at the sudden question, but no more surprised than Fraser, who had asked it. All Fraser could articulate to himself was that Ray's personal story had created a space for conversation. For revelations, for ... sharing, as Ray would put it. As he felt Ray turn toward him, Fraser realized how incredibly strange it was to be asking about this. A little reckless, even. He felt oddly similar to the mental state he'd been in the afternoon he'd rushed off to Sears after Ray Vecchio had expressed frustration at not being able to find a woman to place at Saint Fortunato's as a teacher.

He just went, then.

He'd just spoken, now.

Ray's handsome face was definitely asking for clarification, so Fraser elaborated. "What did you mean, earlier, when you said, you'd try anything?"

Ray's expressive eyebrows rose, his full lips pursed. As Ray thought it over, there came another echo of Ray's voice in Fraser's mind: _"Do you find me attractive?"_

Weeks ago, when Ray had asked him that, Fraser had equivocated. He realized now that it was their audience which had made him so tongue-tied -- their audience in the crypt, about which Ray had seemed supremely unconcerned. But then, Fraser had -- coward! -- equivocated. He'd thought, many times since, about how he had answered that question. How he wished he could add to his answer, given another opportunity.

Ray's puzzled reaction made Fraser think that this was perhaps not the best time to revisit those ideas. The pause was stretching out. But the die was cast. He'd spoken, and now it was up to Ray to answer.

Ray shrugged, watching Fraser's face. "You know, anything. Meaning I'm not prudish. Stella and me, not that you want the gory details or anything, but we weren't exactly, what do you want to call it, conservative. In bed. But I don't think that's what you're asking about and I wouldn't tell you if it was. Stella and me -- that's private."

Ray turned further in the seat to fully face him, leaning his shoulder against the upholstery and stretching out an arm along the seat back toward Fraser. His expression now was wary and challenging. But far from displeased.

Fraser licked his lips. Ray's body language could not have done a better job of conveying his openness to Fraser's raising of this issue. It made Fraser brave again. It made him... warm. "No, you're right. I am not and would not, ever, pry into the intimate details of your marriage. I was merely thinking, in light of what you just told me, that, sometimes what people need when they've been hurt, is comfort. And, that sometimes convention and prejudice get in the way of that comfort being offered, or being accepted."

"Offered. Comfort," Ray repeated thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"You're offering."

"Yes." Fraser had to turn and gaze out the windshield and examine himself for a moment. Ray's technique, always, was to read between the lines, jump ahead, use his hunches, leap ahead of his data. It was what he did. Was Fraser fully aware of what Ray might think he was offering? Of the risk he might be taking? Of the potential for hurt, exposure, judgment? Of what Ray might read into this?

He was.

He turned back to face Ray. His partner, his friend.

Fraser repeated, "Yes. Yes, I am." And he slid across the seat and raised his arms and embraced Ray, leaned into him, pulled him close. And -- benediction -- Ray hugged him back, tightly. Fraser closed his eyes. The sharp smell of hair gel, of sweat concealed by linen and old starch, and mixing with it, a brand of antiperspirant that clashed unpleasantly with the hair gel. Fraser filtered out the distractions and focused on the sharp, clean scent of Ray's sweat, and all its associations of closeness, of touch and security and excitement that added up to his partner. And also -- he willed the words to form -- the attraction he felt. Which might -- possibly, apparently -- not be entirely unwelcome either.

 _"You know me, I'll try anything."_

Ray was gripping the back of Fraser's neck with one hand and pressing his open palm against the middle of Fraser's back with the other. He was strong, and he was letting Fraser not only know it, but feel it. And then Ray released a long, ragged breath and turned his face, bringing more of his skin against Fraser's cheek. Fraser could almost taste his breath, and found he wanted it. He sought it. Coffee, and cigarettes, and warmth. Fraser tightened his arms. They breathed together.

Then Ray pushed his face against Fraser's neck for a brief, too-brief, second, and pulled away. He rubbed his eyes, and reached again for the car keys.

"Thanks," he said, as he turned to look behind them and back the car up, and Fraser caught once again the glitter of unshed tears. "That's buddies."

Fraser nodded. He could still feel Ray's body, imprinted on his arms, on his chest.

"So," Ray said, in an entirely different voice. "This guy in the Cutlass. I still feel like there's an Orsini connection there."

"A hunch, Ray?"

Ray smiled. "Maybe."

And he drove, exceeding every speed limit, back to the station.

~~~~

Four in the morning, and Fraser was still struggling to come fully alert. He'd been awakened rather abruptly. The cool damp air of the predawn city helped his mind focus. It was quieter now than by daylight, and the sky seemed closer. He scanned the crowded horizon, searched futilely for stars, rested his eyes on the foggy nimbus of a street light, and, finally, glanced at Ray. They were walking down the sidewalk to where Ray had left his car, just outside the consulate. Ray looked alert and a little manic, despite the hour. Fraser wondered if he had been up all night.

Fraser said, "It's two hours until dawn. Won't it be much easier to find Mr. Mendleson if we wait until business hours, or at least daylight?"

"You may have a point. Until then, there's always ... Waffle House."

"Waffle House it is."

They were almost to the car when Ray stopped, snapped his fingers and then pointed to Fraser with two fingers of each hand, all in one sweeping gesture.

"Wait a minute," Ray demanded. Fraser had his hand on the roof of the car, anticipating that Ray would go around to the driver's side and unlock it for him, but he met Ray's intent eyes. Ray indeed seemed tightly coiled.

"Wait a minute. What you said earlier. That's not what you really meant."

Fraser raised his eyebrows. What he had said earlier? That could refer to a dozen different topics.

"About the hugging comfort thing and not wanting me to worry because you would do that," Ray explained impatiently. "Because that's not it. Because we hug. You know we hug; we've always hugged; that is a thing we do. You wouldn't have stopped to ask permission just for that. So that wasn't what you meant, about the offering comfort thing."

Fraser was conscious of a certain amount of tingling in the area of his lower spine and around his bullet scar. He remained still, but tried to look receptive.

Ray went on: "So what were you getting at Fraser? Really?"

Fraser swallowed. Perhaps he had been unconscionably forward, in light of Ray's obvious continuing, if ill-advised, interest in his former wife, and in Fraser's complete lack of objective evidence of Ray's potential for romantic or sexual attraction to anyone except women. And yet -- Fraser had heard him ask at least nine different women for dates, some more than once, since they had met. Obviously Ray could carry a torch for Stella Kowalski while also perceiving himself as open to new relationships. Couldn't he? Unless Fraser was seriously misunderstanding something? Always a possibility. And as to the potential for same-sex involvement? Fraser had only Ray's own vague words there. And his tingling certainty that Ray was indeed as open-minded, as "willing to try anything" as Ray had once said. The metaphorical limb he was on suddenly seemed awfully fragile.

Fraser ventured: "It is true that I was offering you comfort. This case has been quite personally upsetting for you."

Ray was waiting, poised. "But?"

"But?"

Ray glared at him, but Fraser, feeling more than usually like a deer in the headlights, simply stared back. Finally Ray, smiling slightly, with a knowing look, let it go. He got in the car and started it. They went to Waffle House. They breakfasted. They drove to the construction site, they observed suspects, and as the day wore on Fraser felt more than usually like one half of a duet.

And there was something buzzing in the background now, just behind their words, yet, something brought just a little closer to the foreground than usual, because of Ray's emotional vulnerability ever since this case had involved them once again with Stella Kowalski. Fraser bit his lip and tried to tell himself he hadn't intentionally pushed Ray into anything more than acknowledging that Fraser was, as Ray would put it, "there" for him. Tried to make himself believe that he didn't secretly hope that whatever this buzzing tingling feeling was, it would... foreground itself even more. Fraser clenched his jaw. What he needed was to get hold of himself. What they had, their friendship, their partnership, was precious. It was the purest hubris to wish for more.

And yet. He remembered. Remembered the dark bending around the cocoon that was the space inside the silvery car. He remembered the hard press of Ray's hands on his shoulders, the scent of Ray's hair as his warm chest pressed against Fraser's. Remembered the glitter of his tears.

~~~~

The hours of the cluttered and frantic day went by, jumbled and busy and packed. Watching Ray dance, accumulating enough evidence to arrest Alderman Orsini, identifying the existence of a separate bombing case, forcing himself to interrupt Ms. Kowalski and Ray in her apartment, creating an aerial display with the explosive.... yes, it was all quite exciting and full.

And then Fraser accepted that of course Ray needed to be alone, after bidding what might well be a final goodnight to Ms. Kowalski, and so Fraser was walking along the sidewalk, pondering the lessons and the new information this case had brought, when Ray's car, pulled up beside him. Ray rolled down the window. Fraser raised his eyebrows and leaned in, folding his hands behind his back. He tried to ignore his pounding heart.

Fraser said, "You said you wanted to be alone."

Ray returned, "I lied." He looked away, tapped his hands on the wheel, and met Fraser's eyes again. "No, actually I didn't lie. I thought it over, and I changed my mind."

They stared at each other.

"That's allowed," Ray said, deadpan.

Why would Ray change his mind? Fraser studied his face, but all he could see was wary determination. The exhausted sadness of earlier seemed to be gone.

"Fair enough." Fraser went around the car and got in. He could ride along, and wait. He could wait to see what else Ray might say. What Ray might reveal about... changing his mind.

"Huh," Ray said, as he put the car in gear, and he was obviously pleased. "Scratched the eyebrow _and_ cleared the throat. Gotcha."

He was still chuckling when they arrived at the intersection that would take them to the consulate if Ray turned north, or to Ray's own neighborhood if they turned west. Barely braking, Ray hauled the car into a squealing turn and then abruptly stomped on the brake, bringing the car up to a curb, engine still thrumming and shocks still rocking, on a side street one block shy of that intersection. With the force of the turn, the Stetson slid along the dash to fetch crookedly up against the windshield.

Fraser, eyebrows up, watched as Ray gripped the wheel for a moment and pulled in a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. Then Ray turned to him and met his eyes. He unlatched his seatbelt, slid one arm along the back of the front seat and slid his whole body toward Fraser, with his other hand extended, in that gesture that usually meant, 'See? Unarmed; no threat here.'

Fraser's heart started to pound again. Ray's hand came to his face, and cool fingertips cautiously slid along his cheekbone to part around his ear. Ray was very close now. Fraser could taste his breath, and he had to close his eyes. He found himself gripping Ray's shoulder and holding his breath. He was waiting so intently for the first touch of Ray's lips to his own that when Ray murmured, "Fraser...", the soft puff of breath was startling. He opened his eyes to see Ray had closed his own. Ray's kiss was cool and soft, and yet not tentative at all.

Fraser clutched his shoulder hard and kissed him back.

Blind, lost, clinging, Fraser fell into Ray's soft mouth, until he was forced to surface once again and re-acquire his surroundings, because Ray was.... Ray was laughing. Fraser frowned, embarrassed on some buried level he couldn't quite place.

Ray was nuzzling him, pleasantly scraping stubble along stubble, and laughing. "I knew it," he said. "I fucking knew it."

"No need to swear at me, Ray," Fraser absently admonished. His lips were trying to find Ray's lips again. They kissed again for a while, sweetly, wetly, holding on tight.

"I wasn't swearing at you," Ray corrected, eyes still closed. "I was just expressing myself strongly. Which is appropriate to the situation."

More kisses, not as sweet, growing in urgency moment by moment.

"Okay, okay, okay," Ray was saying, and he was... it seemed he wanted to push Fraser away, stop this, and Fraser was puzzled but agreeable. He opened his eyes. Ray had let go of him with one hand and was pressing it to his forehead.

"Okay. My place, right?"

And Fraser's blurry words of agreement were lost in the squeal of the tires.

Ray drove hastily, parked quickly but with his usual expertise, and he looked as if he were stopping himself, with a grin, from coming around to Fraser's side of the car, but Fraser had quickly gathered his hat and climbed out.

Ray led the way up the stairs, his walk expanding into a saunter as he did.

His hand on the keys, the keys in the lock, he glanced almost shyly up at Fraser and said, as if continuing a conversation, which Fraser supposed they were, " 'Cause I had wondered. About, were you flirting or were you. What."

And then the door was open and they were inside, and Fraser's arms were around him again and just before their mouths met, making further speech impossible, Fraser said, "I'm very much looking forward to .... trying anything. A lot of anythings. With you."

Ray's smile against his lips, the warm and comforting circle of his arms, was all the answer he needed.

end


End file.
